


Misrecollect

by TwinKats



Series: Mimneskesthai [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Agent Florida, Dehumanization, F/M, Gen, Made Up Science, Other, Pre-Canon, Referenced Torture, Science Fiction, Seriously Agent Florida is disturbing, Swearing, Therapist Agent Florida, Unethical Science, dealing with trauma you don't even remember, did I mention he's creepy?, everyone are Florida's toys, memory problems, morally corrupt treatment of army personnel, poor Private Jimmy, pre-Blood Gulch Chronicles, referenced relationships, they don't appear but are commented on, typical warnings for rvb apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinKats/pseuds/TwinKats
Summary: Church blamed his faulty memory on the head injury. Everything was all mixed up. He’s pretty sure he’s got the most important bits down now; if only Captain Flowers wouldstop asking.Honestly it’s like Agent Florida—Flowers—Florida?—thought Church would give him away.Oh.Oh.Well this explained a lot.Wherein Alpha’s memories are even more of a mess than previously thought.





	Misrecollect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _a·mnesia – n. modern latin_   
>  _1\. loss of a large block of interrelated memories; complete or partial loss of memory caused by brain injury, shock, etc._   
>  _2\. loss of memory_   
>  _from –_   
>  _a- - prefix; latin_   
>  _1\. not_   
>  _-mnesia - suffix; latin_   
>  _1\. (condition or type of) memory_   
>  _from -_   
>  _a·mnesia – n. greek_   
>  _1\. forgetfulness_

When you are missing such a large gap of yourself everything feels off-balance. The first few days after the implantation and arrival and Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha— _thank fuck_ they were off-books or else Agent Florida would question the Director’s sanity for naming the outpost _after the AI they were hiding_ —Alpha was tired, ill, and the adjustment phase lasted much longer than the scientists of Project Freelancer predicted. Agent Florida, at first, feared that Alpha was headed toward rampancy. He had his orders at any rate; any sign of remembering the trauma of Project Freelancer or instability then the project was terminated.

Florida sighed and leaned back in his chair, nestled within the caverns beneath Blood Gulch and away from V.I.C. – there was only so much interruptions he could afford, and while normally he was a cheerful fellow he needed to be serious for this. Agent Florida’s specialty was after all infiltration—observation—analyzation—and he needed to work on the logs and reports before him about Alpha’s mental state. Smart AI were—problematic—after all. Too many variables to deal with compared to a regular computer program; unpredictable in most cases, much like the humans they were based off.

Florida pursed his lips together and scrolled through what he did have in regard to Alpha so far, and what the AI ‘remembered’ since implantation into Private Jimmy.

_Mother of Invention Crash Site – mistaken as Sidewinder (?)_  
                                                                                                _—Potentially a merger between crash site and implantation; probe further_  
_Crash; Agent Texas’ rampage to get to Alpha – massacre at Sidewinder_  
_—Director approved; at least Alpha is consistent_  
_Private Jimmy and implantation – death from Agent Texas by beating with his own skull (?)_  
_—potential signs of permanent damage; watch carefully_  
_Agent Texas—AI Fragment “Beta”—and Alpha – romantic relationship (?)_  
_—Director did not like the implication; fragments of potential AI-connection_  
_Private Jimmy and Alpha – friends (?) no sign of Private Jimmy consciousness resurfacing_  
_—Alpha unclear on this front; probe further; continue to watch_

The vitals for Private Jimmy’s body were stable. Florida kept up careful monitor on that front just in case the connection between implant and host became unstable and potentially damaging. The host needed to remain intact and functioning; especially since the entire scenario already started. To change things _now_ would cause problems later down the road. Florida liked Private Tucker—he was amusing. It’d be a shame to have to terminate the Private’s tenure with the Blue Sim Army.

Not that Florida _wouldn’t_ terminate Private Tucker’s tenure if it came down to it. The host body and Alpha came first; Florida’s priorities were not compromised. It’d be a shame, sure, but Florida would quite honestly feel nothing aside from a small bit of regret at the loss of entertainment. Granted keeping Alpha safe grew harder and harder as the days passed. The AI was determined to take this ‘war’ seriously, and while everyone in the canyon aside from the AI was expendable that didn’t mean Florida _wanted_ to go out and hunt more toys to play with.

Florida liked his current toys; they were _amusing_ and so utterly _perfect_.

* * *

Church grimaced as he leaned his head back at the kitchen table with a faint groan. His head _hurt_ again, and the world felt just a little bit set to the side and off balance. It was like a disconnect between mind and body—a few seconds delay that he barely noticed but there enough to cause him a migraine. Flowers claimed it to be a side effect of his head injury from a few days ago and that the confusion, headaches, and other issues would clear up soon. They couldn’t clear up damn soon _enough_. Church hated feeling like this—not all there, like some part of him was _missing_.

“Dude, _another_ migraine?” Tucker questioned as he plopped down next to Church with a steaming mug of coffee. Church grunted. “You know we should really call in a medic. Are we sure Flowers is even certified to check you out?”

“Fffffuck you,” Church flopped forward and pressed his head against the cool metal of the table.

“I’m serious man,” Tucker grumbled. “I don’t know how you can trust him. He’s _creepy_.”

Church snorted. “That’s an understatement, asshole, and who said I _trust him?_ ” Didn’t he? Church frowned against the throbbing of his head. Flowers was trustworthy, right? Some part of Church _knew him_ but he couldn’t remember for the life of him from where. He knew Flowers would keep him safe from— _what?_ Church sighed. He _hated_ this.

“Dude you listen to his every word,” Tucker pointed out. “Like how is that not fucking trust?”

“He’s a superior officer dickface,” Church mumbled. “Hafta listen.”

“That don’t mean _shit_ ,” Tucker snorted. “Are you sayin’ you’d listen if _Cappy_ asked you to shoot yourself in the head?”

Church huffed, paused to think about it, then questioningly mumbled, “…no?”

“ _Seriously?!_ ” Tucker gaped, open mouthed as he held his mug in his hand. “What the fuck, man.”

“I don’t know, Tucker, what do you want me to say?” Church growled and pulled his head up. He gave Tucker a baleful stare. “I can barely remember the past few days— _I don’t know if I’d listen or not!_ ” A part of him said he _would_ if it was an order. A part of him noted that if Flowers honestly thought—and his head throbbed and Church groaned; thoughts scattered away. “ _Fuck_.”

Tucker sighed. “I’ll go get the aspirin.”

“Thanks man.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tucker waved his hand dismissively as he headed toward the cupboard. “I’ve got a sister with chronic migraines; I get you.”

“You’re still an asshole, asshole,” Church mumbled as Tucker returned with the pills and a glass of water.

“And you’re still a whiny bitch, bitch,” Tucker shot back with a grin. Despite their rather rough start and Church’s complaints that he hated Tucker the black man quickly settled himself in the ‘useful’ category of Church’s brain.

Tucker handed over the pills and the glass of water and watched as Church downed both and then sat back down to his own mug of coffee. “Where is Flowers anyway?” Tucker asked as he took a sip and Church settled his head back down against the table.

“Dunno,” Church mumbled. “Reporting in I guess?”

Tucker snorted. “About _what?_ Those idiots over at Red Base don’t _do_ anything.”

“Don’t get why we don’t just kill them and take the base,” Church grumbled. “We could take them.”

“Pff, Flowers and I could take them maybe,” Tucker chuckled. “You?”

“Shut up, jerkface. This is just temporary.”

“Mmm.”

Tucker eyed Church while Church just breathed and waited for the aspirin to kick in. After a moment of companionable silence Tucker spoke up again. “You ever realize how _creepy_ Flowers is?”

Church sighed and mumbled, “…Cappy.”

“Yeah, that.” Tucker blew on his coffee and took another sip. “ _Creepy_.” He shuddered theatrically and Church laughed softly.

“I know,” Church mumbled, “but he’s…always been that way? _Eccentric_ I think they called it. Fuck if I know. He’s just _weird_.”

“Understatement,” Tucker sang with a faint grin. “How long have you know him anyway? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Church frowned in thought and tried to put a number to the time he’s spent with Flowers. The only part he could conclusively remember was the past several days since he woke up from the head injury—coma—thing. There was some sort of vague recollection of knowing Flowers from _before_ —but the exact amount of time eluded him.

“…years?” Church eventually said questioningly. “A while,” he said conclusively. Tiredly Church raised his head—he was always so tired. He just wanted to _sleep_. Tucker raised an eyebrow.

“What you’ve been in this shithole for _years?_ ” Tucker said incredulously.

“Nah,” Church waved a hand dismissively. “I was at Sidewinder first.” That was right, wasn’t it? They’d come from Sidewinder to here, and then Church hit his head, right? That sounded about right, Church thought, but something felt wrong. Wasn’t he at Sidewinder? “And…somewhere else? Fuck I don’t know, it’s been a damn while okay? Sheesh, what’s with the fucking questions anyway?”

Tucker snorted. “Do you _want_ to talk about the Reds?”

“No?”

“How about the dirt? Or the lack of decent chicks?”

Church dropped his head back to the table; it landed a bit harder than he wanted and rattled his brain. “Ow,” Church mumbled, and then hissed as his head _throbbed_.

“Maybe you should go lay down?” Tucker pointed out. He sounded concerned. Church twisted his head to check Tucker’s face. Yeah, the guy was concerned.

“Yeah,” Church said distantly. Laying down sounded like a good idea. He was so fucking _tired_. Church climbed to his feet and waved. Without a word he left the kitchen and fumbled his way to his own bunk. Since there were just three of them on the base they each got their own rooms, which Church appreciated. He had enough problems with his own head to worry about some other asshole’s habits on top of things.

Church wondered where he knew Flowers from. It’d probably bug him until he remembered. With a tired sigh Church climbed into bed and tugged the covers up over his head. He drifted off with thoughts of snow and Tex and Jimmy and Flowers swirling through his head.

* * *

 

Florida looked to Private Tucker hunched over a bowl of cereal and noted the apparent absence of Alpha from the commons. He took a second to parse that information before he released the catch of his helmet—the subtle hiss a comfort—and carefully set it down on the table. With a soft sigh he headed over to the cabinets, pulled out a mug, some earl grey tea, and began to boil water.

“Where has Private Church gotten off to, Private Tucker?” Florida asked lightly with a soft smile pressed against his lips. The teakettle began to whistle softly as the water heated.

Tucker swallowed his bite of cereal and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. “Migraine. Went to lay down.” Tucker tilted his head back to regard Florida. “Shouldn’t we, you know, call in a medic now Captain?”

Florida tsked. “I told you, Private Tucker, call me _Cappy_. Or Cap, if that’s your flavor.” He turned and gave Tucker a wide smile. “I’d really hate for all this command structure to get between our team.”

Tucker stared, and said slowly, “You call me and Church Private, dude.”

“Mm,” Florida hummed lightly and pulled the kettle off the stove. “How bad is the poor things head this time?” he said instead of addressing Tucker’s carefully worded, and correct, reply.

Tucker breathed out heavily through his nose and turned back toward his cereal while Florida made his way over to the table. “I gave him some aspirin, he went to lay down.”

“And how did he appear?” Florida asked lightly. Tucker frowned, and Florida watched how he gripped the spoon tight. Perhaps he should try to mitigate attachment. It wouldn’t do to have Alpha fracture while in a host.

“Slow,” Tucker said carefully. “Confused. Tired. Same as fucking usual.” Tucker shoved more cereal into his mouth and it took all of Florida’s willpower not to grimace at the display. “I still think we should call in a medic. Something’s seriously fucking wrong.”

Florida hummed, sipped at his tea, and set the mug down. “I hear your concerns, Private Tucker. I don’t think we need a medic at this time, but I have forwarded the issue to Command.”

Tucker looked up, almost relieved. “So we’re getting a medic?”

“No,” Florida told him flatly. “Don’t you worry about it, Private Tucker. Just let me know if you see any changes, alright?” Florida gave him a bland sort of smile. “Enjoy your breakfast.” With grace Florida got up from his seat, mug in hand, and headed out of the commons. He left his helmet behind—it didn’t matter if he was in armor right now. It was nap time after all.

_Right on schedule_ , Florida mused as he headed down the hall of the base and pushed open Alpha’s door. _Consistent; and a cause for concern. Hopefully the Director pulls through._ This ploy wouldn’t work if Alpha slept far too much after all. While Florida understood the AI being tired—having whole pieces of yourself forcefully twisted away in the manner that it’d been had to be tiring—this entire ruse depended upon some level of activity. Private Tucker would expect nothing less, and if Alpha didn’t improve the boy might just go and try to contact V.I.C.

Agent Florida hummed softly as he settled down onto the edge of Alpha’s bed. He sipped his tea with one hand, the other curled into the dark locks of hair on Alpha’s host’s head. They really chose well with Private Jimmy, Florida mused. Dark hair, lighter eyes—a slightly oval face and not-quite-prominent cheekbones. The only discrepancy that Florida could see were the freckles, and the exact shade of pale of Private Jimmy’s skin. All in all the similarities worked in their favor. It’d do no good to have Alpha go through periods of intense dysphoria because of something as simple as _appearance_.

With a soft hum Florida tugged his hand through the host’s hair, Kevlar and armor covered fingers digging lightly into the scalp.

“Private Church,” Florida said softly. “Are you there?” He watched as the brow furrowed and the faint groan came from Alpha. Florida frowned, and cautiously whispered, “…Alpha?” That garnered a slightly louder groan, this one with some sort of question as Alpha’s head turned.

_Wonderful_ , Florida thought with a grimace. Oh, well, it worked in his favor for now.

“Program; system status check,” Florida said, and made sure to keep his voice low. He leaned over the host body and kept his face close to Alpha’s ear. It wouldn’t do for Private Tucker to hear him address the AI.

Alpha moaned, but this close Florida could see the way the host’s eyes fluttered and shifted. For a second there was no response, and then Alpha began to mumbled in the sleep hazed and distant way that Florida did not expect.

“Men-ntal scarring, damaged neu-neur-neural net and implannnnt site electrical b-b-burns. M-M-Memory malfunction with ddddata chip.” Alpha shifted as Florida dug his fingers into the host’s hair with a sharp grimace, entirely not pleased with what he could hear or how he could hear it. “A-A-Agent Fffflorida?” Alpha slurred. “Where—”

“Go back to sleep, Private Church,” Florida murmured. He relaxed his fingers and leaned in close to almost press his lips against Alpha’s forehead. “These headaches will go away soon.”

“Fffflor-flor-flowers?” Alpha mumbled, brow furrowed from both pain and confusion.

“That’s right,” Florida said gently. “Cappy’s here. He’s got you, Private. Go back to sleep and everything will be okay.” Florida waited for any further response, and then sighed when Alpha finally drifted back off.

With a scowl Florida got back to his feet and stared down at the AI stuck in a host body. He shook his head and mumbled a short curse before Florida plastered back on his genial smile and slipped out of Private Church’s room. He headed back to his own and contemplated how to phrase _this_ in a report, and even if he honestly should. The fact that Alpha could still manifest and follow an obvious command perhaps could be considered a good sign—or a bad one, depending on how far the Director desired to follow through with this ruse.

Florida wondered if the time came that they finally stopped Agent Maine and the AI fragments that had fallen into full blown rampancy if they’d call this mess finished and return Alpha to whatever the Director desired to have the AI settled into. If that was indeed the overall plan then perhaps the subtle signs that Alpha still presided as a consciousness beside what they wanted Alpha to be—in this case ‘Private Church’ as the designation the AI gave—was in fact a good thing. Florida shook his head. It wouldn’t do to contemplate this for now. There was plenty more to focus on for the time being.

Such as nap time. If there was one thing Florida appreciated it was that Alpha gave him the perfect excuse for nap time. Infiltration and information gathering could be so _tiring_ after all. Florida shed his armor, set his mug of tea down on the bedside table, and flopped over with a pleased sigh. There was only one thing missing from the bed, but Florida could deal with that easily enough. With a pleased hum the Freelancer settled down for his own nap.

* * *

 

Tucker did not like Captain Flowers. The man chose him for some unnamed reason from his previous outpost through trickery and deceit. Tucker _liked_ his last assignment. There were chicks he could hit on, work he could do that was ultimately lazy, and enough sex to satisfy him for being in this godforsaken army. Tucker _didn’t_ like Blood Gulch. The outposts were named weird— _Alpha_ for Blue Base and _One_ for Red Base; who named outposts like _that?_ —and Captain Flowers’ continue insistence to ignore command structure and yet _still keep it going_ …yeah, Tucker didn’t like the man.

“Not like I have any choice,” Tucker mumbled frustrated. He’d _tried_ to get out of the reassignment. Someone up top denied his request. He’d been provided extra pay to compensate since he didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the job, but that was it.

With a sigh Tucker took his bowl over to the sink and began to rinse it out. By now Captain Flowers would’ve settled down for his own nap—things seemed to work like clockwork here for some bullshit reason, but whatever. Tucker didn’t really care one way or another. Sure he was frustrated about no medic for Church; no asshole deserved to suffer like the guy was. Tucker hated seeing that same suffering on his sister. They really should get a medic out here, or ship Church off for an MRI, because something had to be not right.

“Stupid Flowers,” Tucker grumbled. He left the sink and headed off to his room to suit up. Since Captain Flowers and Church were down for the next hour or so, that left Tucker on guard duty for the base. Thankfully the Reds also seemed to abide by the same weird schedule of Captain Flowers and Church and never really came in their direction during scheduled ‘nap time’ for the two.

For a second Tucker paused, surprised to see Church’s door open. Their rooms in the small sort-of barracks structure were side by side and for some weird reason Church was meticulous about having his door shut when sleeping. He also threw a fit the one time he walked into Tucker’s room when Tucker was asleep because _it was apparently weird someone slept naked!_ Tucker snorted. _Prude_ , he though dismissively. Still, door open, Church fast asleep in his own bed…Tucker’s lips curled up into a smirk.

_Pranking time!_

Cautiously Tucker drifted over toward the door and peered his head through the crack. For a second he froze—that, that wasn’t what he expected at all; what was—Tucker pulled away quickly and instead headed into his room, eyes wide and a frown on his face. _What in the hell was that?_ Tucker thought. He leaned against his closed door and bit his lip—a nervous habit that his sisters couldn’t ever get him out of—and tried to reason away what he just saw.

“Why was Captain Flowers…” Tucker mumbled; he felt a bit sick. Church was _asleep_ and the Captain just—the way he’d been draped over Tucker’s fellow Private…Tucker felt sick.

Mechanically, because how does one process _that_ , Tucker dressed into his under suit, and began to pull on his armor. When his helmet sealed with a faint hiss, Tucker stepped out of the room and to the armory. He grabbed a riffle, and then marched himself up to the top of the base. Tucker settled down, back against a rampart, and tightened his grip on his gun.

Whatever Captain Flowers was doing, Tucker decided, was probably not okay in the slightest. He’ll have to keep a closer on eye the man now. Tucker knew he was creepy and weird, he just didn’t think that Captain Flowers might’ve been—that was what he saw—Tucker grimaced beneath his helmet. Yeah, he’ll keep a closer on eye the Captain and on Church. The other guy was a bit loopy and still recovering from the severe concussion he’d gotten, and he might’ve been an asshole when he wasn’t acting all weird and confused, but nobody deserved—deserved whatever Flowers was doing.

For a moment Tucker wondered if Church’s accident wasn’t really an accident at all. _That_ connotation increased the feeling of being ill. Tucker could hear his riffle creak from how hard he gripped it. He grit his teeth and bowed over the weapon. _No more thinking on it,_ Tucker decided. He couldn’t process this shit right now. The implications… _yeah, no, no more thinking on it._

Tucker breathed in deep, settled his heart rate, and focused on his watch. He’d deal with all—that—later.

* * *

 

Tucker didn’t realize he’d dozed off until Church dropped down next to him, his own riffle in hand and a small sack with binoculars that Captain Flowers didn’t know about. Church nudged Tucker with the end of his riffle, which jerked the other man straight awake. Tucker twisted and blinked behind his visor.

“Church?”

“Hey man, sleeping on the job?” Church snorted. “That boring out here?”

Tucker sighed and dropped his head against the wall. “Fuck. _Yes_ ,” Tucker groaned out. “I can’t see shit which doesn’t help. If only I could have that sniper riffle…” Church dug out the binoculars and dropped them onto Tucker’s lap.

“There. You’re lookout, I’m backup,” Church replied and Tucker stared at the binoculars.

“You do realize I have to take off my helmet to use these right?” Tucker said slowly.

“That’s why you’re lookout,” Church said; a part of him sounded almost teasing.

“I don’t know…can you shoot worth shit?” Tucker questioned and tilted his head in Church’s direction.

Church snorted. “I’m the _best_ there is,” he bragged.

Tucker pulled his fingers up to the latch and started to pull off his helmet as he huffed, “Yeah, Mr. Brain Damage? How would you know?”

“How would _you_ know?” Church shot back with a huff. Tucker shook his head as he finally pulled the helmet free. Tucker picked up the binoculars and leaned around the side. He shifted down onto his belly to create a smaller target and began to adjust the sights on the tool to see over at Red Base. Church watched him for a moment. “Thanks, asshole,” he muttered. “For the aspirin.”

“Whatever, dickface,” Tucker shot back.

“Anything interesting?”

Tucker huffed and kicked a leg in Church’s direction. Church yelped and toppled over. He quickly righted himself, Tucker could tell by the way Church scrambled and how his voice puffed angrily behind his visor.

“What the fuck was that for?” Church yelled, voice reaching a pitch bordering on shrieking. “I just asked you a fucking question; like seriously? Why’d you go and kick me you fucktard?”

“Shut up, I’m focusing,” Tucker said dryly, although there was a faint undercurrent of laughter that Church picked up.

“Oh fuck you.”

“Buy me dinner first and we’ll see,” Tucker shot back and Church fell silent. Tucker listened as Church settled himself back down and tried to discern what the Reds were doing. For some reason the yellow and maroon one were just standing around atop their base. Didn’t they know how easy a shot from a sniper that made them?

“Well?” Church grumbled.

“They’re just _standing_ there,” Tucker sighed frustrated and pulled back from the edge. He set the binoculars aside. “Out in the open like a bunch of dickweeds who have no idea how snipers work.”

Church blinked behind the visor while Tucker pulled his own back on.

“Seriously?” the disbelief turned his normal words almost reedy.

“Yeah. We could wipe them out easy at this rate,” Tucker grumbled. “If Captain Flowers would _just give me that sniper riffle_.”

“In your dreams,” Church snorted. Both settled back down and ignored the red base, guns in their laps as they sat behind the safe walls of the base’s roof. “What loadout did you see them with?” Church asked after a moment to settle.

Tucker rolled his shoulders. “The two idiots up top just have your standard BR55 Service Riffle from what I could see. Nothing too spectacular.”

Church grunted acknowledgement and mumbled something about, “Probably the standard service loadout then,” before he relaxed and said louder, “That’s good. Maybe we can get Flowers to let us actually form a battle strategy?”

“Don’t you have to be fighting fit before we do that?” Tucker pointed out. “I mean dude you came out of your weird coma less than a week ago!” Church turned his head toward Tucker. “When Flowers said you were fine and we were up scouting that cliff don’t you remember that you passed out like, three times, and once almost fell down the damn thing?”

Church turned his head away. “I know,” he said tiredly. “These fucking headaches and the—I know, alright? I’m just a fucking liability right now.”

“Nah, I didn’t say that,” Tucker leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “With those guys as our enemy? You’re fine. I doubt they’ll do anything interesting. They seem kinda stupid.”

“I’m just holding us back,” Church mumbled, and something about that tone struck Tucker as odd.

“Dude, fuck you are holding us back,” Tucker pointed out. He shifted forward and leaned over his riffle to look at his fellow Private. “Man I don’t know where you got that attitude but seriously? This is the best fucking time I’ve had in a while. I mean there could be more chicks to look at but seriously? This is pretty damn chill.”

“Yeah?” Church asked. He looked to Tucker and—Tucker sucked his lip between his teeth.

“Yeah, man. Best fucking time I’ve had in a while,” Tucker said. Church huffed a laugh and leaned back.

Tucker felt a bit bad—something about that tone just _hurt_ and given what Tucker saw earlier—Tucker forced himself to breath normally. He wondered where Church even got that bullshit idea anyway. Tucker shook his head and glanced around the edge of the wall.

“What do you say we ditch guard duty and go do something else?” Church asked.

“Like what?”

“Fuck if I know. Monopoly?”

Tucker twisted back around to stare at Church.

“ _Monopoly_?” he asked, curious.

Church shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to play.”

Tucker stared, and stared, and then laughed from underneath the helmet. Alright, he could do this. Yeah, he could definitely do this.

“Alright, but let’s make it more interesting,” Tucker cackled and got to his feet. He offered Church his hand.

“How so?”

Tucker hummed in thought, and then a wicked idea crossed his mind. “ _Strip_ Monopoly.”

“What?!”

Ah, the squeak of a man who didn’t know what he was getting into. Tucker grinned.

“You heard me, asshole. You in?”

Church was silent, and then he grinned and grabbed Tucker’s hand. “Oh you are going _down_ , you fucker.” They both headed back into the base without a further word.

Hours later Florida would wake up to loud, reedy, shrieking curses coming from Church, and pleased crows coming from Tucker. He’d lay there for a while, and then smile in slight fondness at the memories that the noises dragged up. Still, he’d hate to ruin their fun, but at the same time oh how he’d enjoy it. Finding Alpha naked and cussing out Private Tucker just made the entire experience even more amusing.


End file.
